Love and Hate
by Kourin Lucrece
Summary: A rather disturbing look into the mind of Agent Sands and his friendship with El Mariachi some time after the movie. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Love and Hate  
  
By Kourin Lucrece  
  
Disclaimer: Yo deseo...  
  
Author's Note: This, ah... randomly popped into my brain and needed a suitable outlet. Sands seemed to be the perfect character to understand. *hugs the oh-so-beautiful and macabre agent* Please R&R!!  
  
~*~  
  
Sands shifted slightly in his seat as he listened to the continued plucking of guitar strings and frowned darkly. The slow anger always simmering in his vein grew closer to a boil with each note. Idly, he wondered what would happen if he were to walk over to where El sat, grab his wrists or fingers or just his hands and just -squeeze- until the bones crunched satisfyingly within his hold and El cried out with the pain...  
  
No! Sands forced the irrational urge back by tightly clenching his fists and forcing his mind onto another train of thought. But for some reason his mind was fixed on what today seemed to be an irritating noise. What could he say to make it stop without harming the mariachi?  
  
"Did you know I'm insane?" he asked his companion suddenly. He smiled inwardly as the sound of the guitar abruptly halted.  
  
"What?" El sounded confused, surprised. Well, it was a reaction and the guitar was silent. Yet, even something that could be taken as a friend's concerned response angered Sands today for no reason.  
  
"Oh, it's never been proven or anything," the American continued in a purposely light tone, "but that doesn't mean I'm sane - only very good at control."  
  
Now he could almost -feel- the confusion (and maybe fear?) coming off the Mexican guitar player. Sands knew that yet again he had the upper hand. The other person had been caught off balance. Sands was in control of the situation.  
  
"Control really is the deciding factor," Sands went on. "I get these impulses to do things to people. Hurt them, betray them, and even kiss some of them... Odd thoughts that just... happen into my brain." He allowed himself a cold smirk. "It's all just random urges."  
  
The sounds of El Mariachi turning in his seat to look at him reached the former CIA agent's ears. He could just imagine the look of horror on his companion's face as he realized Sheldon Jeffery Sands truly was off his rocker. He couldn't stop now, however. Oh no - it felt too good to finally say aloud what he'd always tried to keep hidden.  
  
"In all truth, it's really not thoughts or emotions I control. Only my response to those impulses. Of course, I can't control everything. Perhaps I should have warned my one-eyed informant before he withheld information that I hate people for no reason sometimes. That anger is a fierce and spontaneous emotion that creeps up and makes me hate some people. It fades eventually." He shrugged. "Bit too late to tell him and that waitress, however."  
  
A mirthless chuckle escaped Sands' lips. "It's really bad when someone else wins. That just shouldn't happen. I don't react well."  
  
A small flashback invaded his mind. Sands and another boy are young - maybe 7 or 8 - and they are playing some mindless fighting game on Nintendo with fierce competition. The other boy wins a match and smirks triumphantly. Sheldon squeezes the controller hard enough to crack the plastic before kicking the other boy and walking away.  
  
Another bit of bitter laughter rippled disturbingly through the room at the memory. Even as he got older, he never grew out of detesting being shown up. The exceedingly small amount of people who had one-upped him over the years had not managed to stay on top long. Retribution was sweet - painful and embarrassing.  
  
Sands knew that El had been shocked into silence and his smirk altered into a more disturbing smile as his admission went on.  
  
"The CIA really is the perfect place for someone like me. I'm allowed to obsess over things. They actually encouraged my habit of thinking about something non-stop until it became reality. I'm allowed to enjoy causing people mental and physical pain."  
  
A soft sound seemed forced out of El, one Sands couldn't interpret. The last line was not exactly right, but at that point, he physically couldn't stop. It was as if his mouth had taken over and refused to keep it all in any longer. He was losing control.  
  
"It's not like that all the time," his voice was slowly sounding more pleading than amused and the blind man forced his tone to change, not fully successful. "Not all the time, but enough that if I didn't hold onto the things I -do- feel, I'd probably have been considered a sociopath and locked in a padded room pumped full of medication so strong that I wouldn't even realize I had lost my freedom..."  
  
This time, Sands did manage to stop and his mind berated him for letting so much slip. He'd confessed his biggest fear, as well as all his faults. Any second, he knew, El would take his beloved guitar and run. Sands was beginning to wish he'd just listened to the softly plucked chords in silence. If he had not lost the ability when Guevara removed his eyes, Sands probably would have cried.  
  
To his surprise, the American heard El come to sit in front of him and ask tentatively, "So you feel nothing?"  
  
"No," the words were torn miserably from him. "That's the worst part, I feel the guilt and sorrow and all of it... But now you now that I do horrid things anyway for the satisfaction of winning and not having to fight myself." Sands' voice dropped to a whisper so soft that El had to strain to hear him. "Now you know, you'll leave and I'll have finally chased off the one person I trusted enough to tell."  
  
It was true, too. The fact that he had not said it to stop the music suddenly hit Sands. He had said it because he trusted someone and couldn't hide it anymore.  
  
"I'm not leaving," El told him softly, feeling deep sympathy and sorrow for the man in front of him.  
  
As he was pulled into a reassuring hug, Sands realized that he couldn't recall ever having actually gotten to the point of hating El Mariachi. Perhaps friendship was real after all...  
  
~*~  
  
Um, did I deeply disturb people? (or does anyone understand the emotions represented here? You know- things like unexplained resentment. ^_^;;) Oh well, I apologize if people don't like it, it is my first OuaTiM fanfic. I actually don't picture Sands this way, but it seemed to fit for some reason... I'm babbling, aren't I? Lol. Press the little review button below... 


	2. Epilogue

Love and Hate  
  
By Kourin Lucrece  
  
Disclaimer: No soy Robert Rodriguez.  
  
Well, more of the odd little story, eh? I really wasn't planning on writing more of this, but after your kind reviews I felt I owed you responses and more of the story. I really only wrote this to keep myself from doing serious harm to someone in my family that was in a pissy mood. ^.^ Turns out it was addictive to write and I didn't expect anyone to notice it... I'm so glad that you folks are reading this, reviews are so nice!! Thanks and before the continuation (epilogue?) of the story, here are your responses...  
  
Lykosdragon – No, you don't sound insane! (Although, I'm not one to talk, lol, you might want a second opinion.) 'Sociopath and all' is kinda what I was thinking... haha. I'm really glad you like it (I feel special) and I can't wait to read more of your story!!  
  
Jacksrumrunner – I am flattered at your surprise and liking of the story. ^.^ As for my age... Let's just say I am not yet out of the hell called high school, nor will I be at the end of the semester. (Do you really think I portrayed Sands all that well?)  
  
Telegramsam – I am convinced that boys get PMS, only it's some other hormonal thing, lol. (trust me, I have an older brother...) Unfortunately for our poor blind agent, his problems are a bit more deeply seeded than that. In case it wasn't too obvious, that is... haha.  
  
Chronicles Bailey – Wow, my story is fun? ^___^ And to think I thought the fun part was confusing the people who know me with this odd little tale. I'm glad you like it. (I hope that's what fun means... lol)  
  
*  
  
Not more than a week after their little.. talk... El found Sands sitting outside, looking for all the world as though he were staring at the sunrise. There was something oddly vulnerable and lonely about the way the man was sitting and El found himself recalling the most confusing part of the other day. It hadn't even been the American's confession...  
  
** "I'm sorry..." Sands had muttered, abruptly pulling out of the  
Mariachi's hold. "I shouldn't have said all of that."  
  
"There's nothing to be sorry for," El had responded, further confused.  
  
"Of course there is," the ex-CIA agent snapped. "I would have shot  
someone for crying to me and look at the way I act!" He had shaken his  
head. "Stupid fuckmook that I am.”  
  


* * *

  
Thinking on it, El decided abruptly that what Sands needed was something  
to do with his time and keep his mind off of things. The man had lived  
for so long in control of everything that he must have been bored without  
anything to occupy his thoughts but his own misery and insanity.  
  
Part of the mariachi knew that Sands had given him a reason to reenter  
the world and begin living again. Maybe this was his chance to do the  
same in return. Only he wasn't giving a return to life, he was giving a  
chance at one that had never been.  
  
Sands started in surprise as he heard El ask from behind him, "Would you  
like to learn how to play the guitar?"  
  
Cursing inside his head at not paying attention, he responded calmly, but  
coolly. "I can't see, fuckmook. I have no eyes. How the hell can I play  
the guitar?" He was hoping that El would just drop the whole thing and  
leave until his little confession had been forgotten and things would  
return to normal. He didn't need some depressed Mexican's pity over a  
moment of weakness!! But at the same time, he was afraid that that was  
exactly what would happen.  
  
The sound of El carrying over a guitar reached his ears. "I'll teach  
you," the mariachi said calmly and placed the instrument into Sands'  
grasp. He reshaped the blind man's fingers over the frets and instructed  
him to gently strum the strings with his other hand.  
  
The resulting sound had been so painful that El had laughed, pressing his  
hand down to cut off the noise. "That's not even a note!" he informed his  
pupil, feeling a twinge of sorrow as the words rang back to him from a  
different time; a time with Carolina.  
  
The impromptu lessons had continued well into the afternoon, until Sands  
could actually play a soft melody without El's help. A bit of  
improvisation changed the song to fit Sands and soon both were smiling as  
he added a few cynical lyrics to go along.  
  
It was what they both needed – friendship and something to occupy their  
minds. After all, time heals all wounds.  
  
~Fini~  
  
Yeah, I know.. It sucks ass. ^_^ But, I had fun writing it none-the-less.  
Comments?? 


End file.
